call this my obsession
by Anrheithwyr
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange née Black was the Queen Bee, and everyone knew it. She was in charge, she was in control, and even if her father had been in charge of planning her marriage, Bellatrix had been more involved in the decision of her partner than most girls of her status. She has those dead eyes, the ones that stare at you and measure up how much she thinks your worth.


_I said to the sun, "Tell me about the Big Bang." The sun said, "It hurts to become."_

_- Andrea Gibson_

…

Bellatrix Lestrange _née_ Black was the Queen Bee, and everyone knew it. _She _was in charge, _she _was in control, and even if her father had been in charge of planning her marriage, Bellatrix had been more involved in the decision of her partner than most girls of her status.

Some people who looked at her swore that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead inside. "_It's obvious_," they say into their glasses, looking over their shoulders with suspicious glances, "_she has those dead eyes, the ones that stare at you and measure up how much she thinks your worth. But her eyes are dead, and so is she._"

That was why, when the up and coming Dark Lord, was looking around for a second-in-command, none seemed more perfect than Bellatrix Lestrange, even if she _was _only twenty and also just a girl, one of the few in his ever expanding army.

And Bellatrix was more than willing to agree, eagerly jumping in line behind him, insisting that _she_, more than anyone else, was ready to do anything for her master.

She would kill for him, she would torture for him, and more than anything else, Bellatrix was willing to follow him straight to hell if it meant that Voldemort would give her respect.

Because Bellatrix Lestrange was _the _Queen Bee, but this queen needed a king, and she was more than willing to let Voldemort be her king, because her useless Death Eater of a husband certainly wasn't enough to cut it for someone like Bellatrix.

People feared her. People respected her. They watched her as she walked and her name was constantly on their lips.

And why wouldn't it be? Bellatrix was the right hand of _the _Dark Lord, the brightest and greatest man to ever grace this hell of a planet.

He was the sun that kept it from raining, the star that made night so beautiful, and Bellatrix would always stay just one step behind him, his ever faithful servant.

Had anyone served him more loyally than she? Bellatrix, who, even at twenty, had already killed a dozen men and women for a man, who would willingly turn in her own family if her lord asked her to do so. Some called her mad, but Voldemort saw the truth.

"A visionary", he called her, "a visionary with hands dipped in blood and a heart as dark as the night. A visionary, that is what you are, Bellatrix, and none other than me can ever truly understand how that feels. They do not understand the truth of how it feels inside to have control over another, to rule over them like you are their god."

He let her call him Tom sometimes, when she was allowed to crawl into his bed and share his warmth, the only person she knew who was allowed to do either of those things, calling him Tom and sleeping with him.

And what made it better was that her husband knew all of it. He knew that Bellatrix loved Voldemort more than she loved him, and that she slept with him and that she was willing to do anything he told her to do.

But Rodolphus did nothing. He said nothing and so she kept doing, coming home late at night with a smirk, almost_ daring_ him to call her out, but Rodolphus was not brave like she was, like Voldemort was, and he only took it, accepting it as just another part of their unwanted marriage.

She knew…about the others, the ones he saw when she wasn't around, the ones that he snuck out to meet at old motels.

She knew…about the fact that, even in his dreams, he saw them, kissed them, loved them more than he loved her.

She knew…that their marriage was only one of convenience, because Bellatrix loved Voldemort and Rodolphus loved a Potter.

Some people called her obsessed, complaining that she gave too much of herself for a cause that made no sense, but Bellatrix knew the truth. She knew that Voldemort was _right_, and that he was the one who would change the world, making it all better with Bellatrix by his side.

Bellatrix had killed already for her master. She had tortured for her master, and she knew that the rest of her life would be spent in his service, fulfilling whatever he demanded of her without a complaint. Because she looked him, and what better way to show such love than staying loyally by his side, doing as he told her to do?

What better way to prove your loyalty than killing for him, torturing for him, taking over the world in his name?

He was her sun, her reason for being, and though it sometimes hurt to follow after him, she knew everything was worth it when he looked at her and smiled.

…

She had been his servant for over twenty years, serving him, falling at his feet. _Worshipping _him, because Voldemort was her lord, her love, and there was no one else in the world who she would rather follow than him. No one else who she would _die _for.

And so she sat in his councils, listening as a man tried to lie to her lord, attempting to pass off a wand, one that he had no doubt ripped off a course, as _the _Elder Wand, the greatest and strongest wand in the known world.

It was raining outside, but the air inside his chambers was dry, making the man before them sweat with nervousness as he handed over the "Elder wand" with a trembling grip.

Voldemort, however, was frowning as he turned the wand over in his hands, slim fingers caressing the wand, before finally looking up at the man who had brought it to him, giving him a cold smile.

"Where did you find it? Off of a corpse, I suppose? Or did you pluck it from a store, hoping I would not notice?" Voldemort demanded of the nervous man, who was looking down at his feet, wringing his hands. "It looks to me as though our friend here was attempting to play me for a fool. Did you truly think I would not realise that this is a _forgery_? That I would not know the difference between an obvious fake and the _real _thing? I am no idiot, my dear man, and I _know _when I am in the middle of a scam. Or did you think I was too blind to see the truth? Tell me, Bella," he turned to her, and she leaned forward in her seat, eager to please him, "did it seem that I would not see such an obvious fake?"

"No, my lord," she said in a breathless voice, cold eyes turning to give the shaking man a disinterested glance, "of course not. It is so easy to see for anyone who has eyes and a brain. You are no fool, my lord, and this is _clearly _a fake. His feeble attempts to trick you have done him no good, though, because you are too smart for him, my lord. You are superior to him in every way, and he must be punished for such lies."

"You heard her, my friend, did you not? I am no fool, even if you seem to find me one. And I do not take well for being played the fool, sir. You must be punished, of course, for your lies and insolence. Bellatrix?" She looked at him once more, eyes beginning to brighten with curiosity as Voldemort pointed towards the man with bony white fingers. "Perhaps you would be willing to show our friend here what we do to those who lie to us? Show him how we deal with insolence and disobedience, and make it clear to him that further failures might cost him his life."

"No, please, please-" the man started to beg, but Bellatrix was already leaping from her chair, rushing to grab him by his robes and carry him downstairs to the chambers set up for torturing, for punishment and drawing out confessions. "Please, no, I'm sorry, it was a mistake. An honest mistake, I swear, _please_, have mercy! Have mercy!"

It was her favourite part, the torture. She loved the screams, the way they begged for mercy and pleaded with her to let them go. She loved that, for those hours, she was in charge of their life, just like Voldemort had always told her.

And she did it all for him. Every time she cut into skin or put them under the Cruciatus Curse, it was all for him. Everything Bellatrix did or ever would do, she did it to prove her love for Voldemort, the only being in the world who deserved her affection.

"You're mad," the man told her as she tied him down, preparing a knife. "You're completely mad, do you know that? I've heard about you…the way you follow him around like a puppy, salivating for him. His little lapdog, that's what they call you. His little _bitch!_"

She sliced into his skin, grinning when the blood came up, hard and fast. She loved the blood almost as much as she loved serving her master. She cut him again and again, ignoring his varying please for mercy and his insults.

"Fucking slut…please, I'm begging you…I'll cut your eyes out, I'll burn your corpse…I'm sorry, have mercy, mercy…fuck you, you goddamn whore…mother above, have mercy, _mercy_!" he continued to shriek, but she heard none of it, seeing only the blood that spilled out when she cut him, and the bruises that formed when she got out the whip with a smile.

And when he looked at her, the man knew it was pointless to fight anymore. Bellatrix Lestrange had cold eyes, dead eyes, that didn't care if he bled, didn't care if he died.

She had an obsession, and that obsession had her to years and years of murders and tortures, leaving behind a trail of corpses and shaking victims who would never quite recover.

"Crucio," she cried, and laughed every time he writhed, sobbing for some divine being to rescue him from her grasp. "No one is going to save you, so I would recommend keeping your prayers to yourself. I am your only god down here, and I answer only _one _prayer. Whatever he asks of me, I do, and I do not obey anyone else. So, _shh_, or I'll make it hurt even more."

But he didn't stop screaming and praying, and soon enough, he was added to the long list of corpses that she had made in the forty-five years of her life.

And Voldemort praised her. Her lord, a smile on his face, kissed her cheeks and praised her for being so dutiful and ridding the world of those who did not deserve the place in the world that they had been given.

He told her that what she did was perfect, because knew it was for him, everything she did was for him, which was true. Everything she did was to show him that she loved him more than anyone else in the world. She killed for him and destroyed for him, and Bellatrix was pleased to see he knew the truth of her feelings for him.

It had been the hardest time in her life, those years that she had spent in a cell next to her husband and brother-in-law. She had hated being away from Voldemort, away from her love, where she was nearly useless.

In Azkaban, she could not fulfill the commands of her lord. In Azkaban, she could not help him to make the world a better place, recreating it in his image.

But now she was free and her lord was back and in charge. And soon enough, the whole world would see that what they called her obsession was nothing more than a necessary part of life, just as important as air or water.

She needed to follow after him in the same way that she needed to feel the life leave a man's eyes or feel the blood spill across her robes.

And others called it the deranged obsessions of a woman who had never truly ever been sane, pointing fingers at her and taking in her cold, dead eyes and her cold, dead heart.

But they didn't understand the power that Lord Voldemort had, the way he made her feel that there was nothing more important in the world than that she was happy.

If it was an obsession, then Bellatrix did not want to ever be cured. If it was an obsession, then she would rather die for it than live in a world where she was away from her lord.

If it was an obsession, then the world better look out for Bellatrix Lestrange _née _Black, because she was willing to do anything for Lord Voldemort, even if it meant everyone else in the world had to die.

Especially if it meant everyone else in the world had to die.


End file.
